


The Assignment

by ravenscar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bond loves Q, John Loves Sherlock, M/M, Multi, PWP, Q loves Bond, Sex Tapes, Sherlock Loves John, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenscar/pseuds/ravenscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assignment for MI6 should be exciting, right? It sure is! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Author's note

A quick note about how and why this fic came to be. [This particular gif](http://watsonsdick.tumblr.com/post/140768073392/do-you-like-what-you-see-sherlock?soc_src=mail&soc_trk=ma) sent my admiration for Martin Freeman into overdrive. How this man manages to get hotter with each passing year defies the imagination. Added to MF’s allure are the 00Q fics I’ve been reading which put me in the mood for some, you guessed it, Bond/Q action. Then I watched Spectre again. Yep, the chemistry is there. My muse tackled me after a three week vacation (my muse’s, not mine) and the result is this fic.

 **Disclaimer** : This is a first for me in that I’ve never written (1) an M/M/M fic (2) a Crossover fic (3) 6000+ words of PWP. In one day (4) A fic where S & J have sex with someone else and they’re OK with it and still madly in love and (5) A fic while there’s a longer fic ([Against All Odds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5573349/chapters/12848061)) in progress. 

To everyone who reads all the way to the end – I’d love to hear your thoughts. Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated, so I thank you in advance.


	2. Chapter 2

‘Hello’, said John, leaning forward over the Quartermaster’s table, hands grasping the edge. He waited for the shaggy head to lift. The man did not acknowledge him, and John remained leaning over the table while casting a quick look around.

He stood in an underground intelligence centre, a very large structure concealed below one of London’s lesser known bridges. Around him stood perhaps twenty tables and what must be a hundred computer screens, large and small. Photographs and criminal profiles flashed across most of the screens. Thousands of lines of computer code scrolled across others. The walls were lined with secure doors to chambers that, he knew, held clever, secret gadgets and the latest instruments of destruction to which only individuals with the highest security clearance were given access. John didn’t worry. The British government was his brother-in-law.

MI6’s intelligence headquarters were empty but for the Quartermaster, John and John’s imperious companion who was sweeping about the room in his long, dark coat and purple scarf like a Byronic scientist, making countless observations and deductions about the goings-on in this room. It was one o’clock in the morning, which explained the deserted office, but his partner floated around the room, a swan cloaked in black, high on the thrill of the chase, inspecting, touching, peering at screens here and there, straightening and making notes in his diary. A tender smile reached John’s eyes. He shook his head, leaving the man to his own investigations and returned his attention to the slender man at the table who was, he decided, rudely and pointedly ignoring him.

John cleared his throat, louder this time. The head still stayed bowed over sheets of paper on which he had scribbled some rather complicated looking calculations. ‘Hello, Quartermaster. Anybody home?’ John snapped with the tiniest bit of irritation, raising his voice even more and knocking hard on the table near the man’s keyboard.

The head lifted to reveal a thick fringe of hair covering the man’s forehead. In John’s very biased opinion, this was a man-boy facing him because the Quartermaster looked not a day older than twenty-two. Mycroft’s file on him, however, indicated he was thirty-two. That was still terribly young to be appointed Head of Q-branch, MI6’s top secret research and development division. Perhaps the Quartermaster was brilliant, like his own tall genius companion.

Delicate hands with long fingers came up to the man’s face and went to his ears, pulling out a pair of earphones. _Ah_ , thought John, _that’s why he didn’t hear me. Not rude, just... unaware_. Large green eyes blinked at John from behind a pair of glasses. _Oh_ , he thought. An inopportune stirring between his legs made him stand up straight, having the unfortunate effect of making his erection even more prominent. He’d bet a thousand quid that his elegant companion, the observant bastard in the designer suit and fancy coat, had not missed that. A low scoff from behind him informed him that he had, indeed, lost his money. The Quartermaster was, apparently, as observant because his eyes flicked down to John’s groin.

Oddly, a flush of embarrassment swept over the man’s cheeks. John couldn’t be certain if the sight of his erection was more than the man could bear or if the Quartermaster wanted a better look, because he pulled off his glasses to clean them, blinking hard in their temporary absence. When he was satisfied that they were clean, he carefully put them on his face again. The man-boy must be blind without his spectacles, John surmised, based on the distortion in the outline of his face when seen through and from outside the seemingly telescopic lenses. Still, in no way did the high-powered glasses detract from the sensuality of that delicate face, a keen intelligence radiating from the direct gaze. A straight nose stood proudly above a lovely, soft mouth. So lovely that there was only one pair of lips that remained lovelier to John. None would ever be lovelier than those bow-shaped lips, especially when they were stretched around his cock while wild gray-green eyes looked up at him with desperate love, or were wetly moaning _John, John, John_ as he fucked his husband to pleasurable oblivion.

‘Conducting a silent interrogation, are you, John?’

Still holding the Quartermaster’s gaze, John tilted his head in the direction of said husband, possessor of the legendarily beautiful lips, who had decided to interject himself into John’s introduction. John shrugged.

‘In a manner of speaking.’ His flippant response sent a rush of warm colour over the Quartermaster’s cheeks. John wouldn’t need Mycroft’s intelligence network to tell him this blushing, nervous, brilliant man before him was gay. He was as coy as Sherlock was flamboyant but they were both very, very gay. And John could not be more pleased.

‘How may I help you gentlemen?’ inquired the Quartermaster.

‘Not silent anymore’, John grinned, looking around at his husband. ‘This is Sherlock Holmes. I’m John Watson. And you’re the Quartermaster.’

‘That’s three syllables too many on the best of days’, said the Quartermaster of his appellation. ‘You may call me Q. Everyone else does.’

‘Do your friends call you by your job, too?’ John insisted.

A shift appeared in the green eyes. A shutter came down. ‘Yes’, was the terse answer. Then a reversal. ‘No. I have no friends.’

‘And your parents, what do they call you?’

Q blew out an exasperated huff. ‘Mr. Watson...I really-’

‘ _Doctor_ Watson’, Sherlock corrected.

‘Medical?’ Q asked John, intrigued now.

‘Yes, a medical and _army_ doctor’, Sherlock elaborated. ‘That means he can break every bone in your body while naming them’, he said with undisguised pride. John basked happily in the warmth of Sherlock’s praise.

‘My apologies, _Doctor_ Watson, but our engagement is of a strictly professional nature. I do not think it wise, or even necessary, to bring first names into it.’

‘But that’s terribly boring and stuffy!’ John chuckled. ‘Mycroft will _like_ this boy’, he said over his shoulder to Sherlock.

‘Hardly a boy, Doctor Watson. I am in my thirties. And although, knowing the elder Holmes’ inclinations, I cannot be certain what you mean when you say “Mycroft will _like_ this boy”, I should inform you that I am not... available.’

‘I didn’t say you were. I only meant Mycroft would appreciate someone with your... talents and sensibilities.’

‘He likely did’, Q shrugged. ‘He hired me.’

‘Of course he did’, John grinned.

‘I have been instructed by Mycroft Holmes that I am to help his brother, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and his partner...’

‘Husband’, Sherlock corrected again.

The eyes behind the glasses widened, arching eyebrows disappearing below the heavy fringe. John smiled and lifted up his left hand, showing the simple platinum band that had made him Sherlock’s. ‘Sherlock...’, he called and another left hand was raised, showing a matching platinum band.

The green eyes turned dark. A shutter lifted, then another.

‘A doctor and a private detective’, mused Q.

‘ _Consulting_ detective’, Sherlock corrected yet again.

Q was wearying of Sherlock’s lessons. ‘I have heard you can be quite extraordinary, Mr. Holmes’, he smirked, his tone making it clear that he did not believe Sherlock's reputation.

‘Sherlock, please, and John assures me that I am.’

Q cocked an eyebrow, turned his computer monitor towards Sherlock. He leaned back in his chair, fingers interlacing over his stomach, and waited. Gauntlet thrown down. John detected an almost imperceptible straightening in Sherlock's already ramrod-straight back. Gauntlet picked up. Sherlock glanced down at the screen for a few seconds, thought for a few more, then pulled out his cell phone and tapped over the keys at a furious speed. A moment later, Q’s computer speakers let out a loud ping. Q’s eyes flew over the contents of his screen and, had it not been for the containing presence of his glasses, his eyeballs might have fallen out.

‘Um- that is quite... I mean-’, he stammered. He pushed his glasses up his nose. With a self-assured tilt of his head, Sherlock acknowledged his open-mouthed admiration.

‘What did you do?’ John asked Sherlock.

Q answered. ‘He just deciphered a coded message MI6 has been trying to decrypt for a week. Seat numbers on an aeroplane! Dead bodies in those seats, used as unconscious patients but their bellies stuffed with explosive material. They’d be allowed to board the Doctors Without Borders rescue flight from London undetected by the best security scans.’ Q whispered in wonder. ‘That’s... that’s...’

‘Extraordinary is the word you used’, Sherlock owned. ‘That was the first of five superlatives John just now expressed to me. He’s generous with his descriptions.’

‘What superlatives? He’s said nothing.’

‘Indeed’, Sherlock smirked.

John wanted to kiss the beautiful peacock and have him right there. But he would wait until they got home.

‘Thank you’, said the Quartermaster, remembering his manners. Then, remembering his duty, ‘M must be informed!’

‘M _has_ been informed, Q’, said Sherlock.

‘You told him already?’

‘In a manner of speaking...’, Sherlock explained.

Q needed a better explanation.

‘His handler did’, John teased.

‘Mycroft is not my handler!’ Sherlock huffed and turned around with a swirl of his coat.

 _Sherlock should have given up science in favour of drama school_ , John thought fondly.

Q nodded. ‘Now, to the assignment...’

The assignment, yes, but John still didn’t know Q’s name. Scrubbing a lazy hand over his jaw, he felt the day-old stubble scrape against his palm. The action was deliciously unsettling to Q, as he unconsciously revealed with a swipe of his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. John smiled and tried again. ‘So... putting aside the _assignment_ for just a minute, what does dear old mum call you?’

‘Did you not get that from my file?’ an irate Q shot back.

John laughed. ‘Mycroft left that out. Classified, he said. But you can tell me. If you want.’

‘Geoffrey’, came the pliant answer, surprising even Q.

‘Is there a surname to go with it?’ John pushed, a slow smile lifting one end of his lips.

‘Boo- Boothroyd.’

‘Glad to meet you, Geoffrey Boo-Boothroyd’, said John, a full grin lighting his face.

‘You are incorrigible, Doctor. Quite incorrigible.’

‘I am’, John admitted just as Sherlock affirmed, ‘He is.’

‘How- h- You are flirting with me shamelessly and in the presence of your husband.’

‘And you have a boyfriend’, Sherlock stated.

A bite of the full lower lip and a flutter of heavy lashes preceded a whispered, shy admission. ‘Yes.’

‘Oh?’ John cocked an eyebrow.

A flush of pride. Then, ‘He’s a double-oh.’

‘Oh. Oh’, said John and laughed at his own poor joke.

Q’s brow furrowed. He would not take kindly to anyone making light of James. James Bond. His own double-oh-seven. ‘He’s very dangerous’, Q warned.

‘Makes no difference. John would flirt with you in his presence, too’, Sherlock said nonchalantly. Clearly, it did not bother him. ‘But John must have a death wish if yours is a double-oh’, he quipped with the smallest smile.

‘How can you...?’ he started to ask Sherlock who was standing behind John now, his front pressed to John’s back, arms wrapped around John’s shoulders and hands clasped over his chest. He loomed over his smaller husband like a brooding guardian angel and kissed his hair. Q stopped.

‘John comes home to me. He loves me. Only me. That’s how.’

That basic truth stated so simply and with such unwavering belief did John in. He turned and pulled Sherlock down for a kiss. ‘I do. I love you, only you. Always you.’

They kissed, oblivious of Q’s open-mouthed shock at their flagrant expression of affection.

‘Mmm..., so lovely’, John crooned and pressed one final kiss to the soft skin behind Sherlock’s ear. Then he turned his charm offensive on Q.

‘So, Geoffrey, I take it your brute is on assignment somewhere in Europe, kidnapping someone, killing someone else, fucking someone for Queen and Country.’

‘That information is classified’, snapped Q, shutting down any further inquiries into the whereabouts of James Bond.

John held up a hand. ‘No need to get your knickers in a twist, Geoff. I don’t need to know _where_ your agent is, just that he won’t show up in London over the next week.’

‘No. He won’t.’

‘Good, great’, John nodded.

An apprehensive frown appeared between Q’s brows. ‘Why exactly is that “good, great”?'

John dropped his voice a couple of octaves and leaned over the seated man. ‘I have a proposition for you.’

‘A proposition?’ Q asked, eyes narrowed in distrust.

Sherlock decided to explain. ‘John is about to suggest that you come over to our flat for a bit of... harmless fun, he likes to call it.’

‘Fun? With whom?’

‘With us.’

‘You? I don’t have _fun_ ’, Q blurted and then caught himself. That was an unfortunate admission. He tried to recover. ‘Wh- what kind of fun?’ he stammered. His voice was nervous but the teeth digging into his full lower lip told John he was interested. Very interested indeed. John grinned.

‘Do you want poetry or prose?’ he asked Q.

‘I do not understand’, Q huffed.

Again, Sherlock interpolated. ‘He can either seduce you or be plain about what he has planned. I’d go with the latter.’

‘Why not the former?’ Evidently, Q wanted to be seduced.

‘The seduction can get quite long and enjoyable though it is, I would like to turn in for the night.’

Q pouted, obviously mourning the loss of innuendo-laden conversation. ‘I have heard you don’t sleep’, he bit out.

‘I don't intend to sleep when we get home’, Sherlock said, dragging an innuendo-laden gaze over John’s body.

‘Sherlock,  _I_ need to sleep’, John complained, knowing exactly what Sherlock intended.

‘You can sleep after’, he offered, a poor compromise. Then, to Q, ‘So, which is it? Poetry or prose?’

Q looked at John. ‘Prose.’

‘Great. I want Sherlock to fuck you while I watch. Then while he’s still fucking you, I want to fuck him. That’s all’, he said, a counterfeit smile plastered on his face. ‘Like Sherlock said, just a bit of harmless fun.’

‘That’s, that’s’, Q huffed and then stopped. ‘Preposterous!’

‘Why? Will your agent mind?’

‘Wha- what?!’

‘Do you love him?’ asked Sherlock.

‘Of course.’

‘Does he know that? Does he trust you?’

‘Of course!’

‘That’s all there is to it, then.’

‘As simple as that?’

‘Yes’, John answered. ‘It really is that simple. Ask him. If he agrees and you’re interested-’

Q considered John’s words. It would not be the first time Bond and he had had a threesome. It would, however, be the first time Bond wasn’t one of the three. He had to tread carefully.

‘I will ask him. And I am- interested, of course’, Q murmured, looking up at Sherlock, no doubt imagining his cock plugging Q’s arse. He gulped his arousal down. Below the table, his legs crossed. ‘But I have a condition of my own.’

‘Nothing medical, I hope’, John guffawed.

‘Shut up, John’, said Sherlock. ‘Spit it out’, he said to Q.

‘My double-oh likes to... um... watch.’ Thick lashes were cast down in embarrassment.

John laughed. ‘That’s terrific! I like your boyfriend already. Sherlock’, he said to his husband, ‘I think we’ve hit the jackpot. We might want to make this a regular, weekly thing.’

‘221B Baker Street is not a backgammon club, John!’

‘You _had_ to choose that game’, John teased. ‘Your subconscious is seeping out, my love.’

‘Shut up’, Sherlock said without bite.

‘I love you’, said John, mollifying his lover.

‘Of course you do’, said Sherlock.

‘And?’

‘I love you, too’, Sherlock said through a sweet pout.

‘I am in the room, you know’, said Q, not kindly. ‘You are both... quite ridiculously in love.’

‘Oh, we know, Geoffrey. We know. So, we can do this on camera if you want. Come now, don't be shy.’

‘I want- I mean, yes. I can make the arrangements in your bedroom, if you’ll allow me. Or...my- my bedroom is already... equipped’, he hesitated, ‘if you would like to use me- I mean my bedroom.’

‘Oh I would, you sweet thing’, John winked. ‘Everything that you said.’

‘Text John your address. Friday, ten p.m. Have a good night!’ Sherlock chirped and headed for the door.

‘What about the assignment?’ Q called out to the departing man.

‘Laterz!’ Sherlock said with a wave over his head. ‘Come on, John!’ he instructed and swanned out of MI6’s underground intelligence centre, leaving a flabbergasted Q in his wake and a very aroused John hurrying behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Friday, nine fifty-four p.m._

Q’s calves burned from exertion. He had been pacing his flat, large by London standards, for the past three hours. He had cleaned himself, cleaned the flat, spread new sheets on the bed. Then he cleaned himself again.

A coded message to double-oh-seven about what he was planning to do and when received a green light only after he promised it would be recorded for posterity.

_Ten p.m._

The doorbell chimed. Q’s heart stopped. His feet froze. The doorbell chimed again. This time he walked towards the door and opened it.

John and Sherlock stood outside, looking as if they were there to spend an evening with an old friend while eating bangers and mash and watching the fine sport of cricket. Q had bangers on the brain. And thick cricket bats and smooth balls. Bloody hell.

‘Hello’, he said shyly.

‘Hello’, John and Sherlock chorused.

‘Well…’, John drawled, his eyes flicking down to Q’s khakis. ‘Are you up for it?’

‘Yes, yes, I am...’, said Q and then blushed furiously when he caught John’s meaning. He looked up and down the corridor. It was deserted. ‘Please come inside quickly.’

‘I intend to take my time’, said Sherlock.

John laughed. Q’s cheeks burned when he caught Sherlock’s meaning. This was hell!

‘Well, Geoffrey, nice place you have here. Is that the love of your life, then?’ John asked, jerking his chin in the direction of a photograph of James Bond, double-oh-seven, with his arms around Q.

‘That is- he is...’, Q started to explain, then gave up. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m relieved we have his blessing for tonight. I really don’t want to be awakened by the muzzle of a Sig between my eyes.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

‘Are you hungry?’ Q asked, determined to infuse some amount of propriety into this most improper situation.

‘Well…’, John husked. ‘I don't know what's on the menu, but...I could eat _you_ up.’

‘Oh... god.’ Q took a step back when John pushed up against his body and captured his mouth in a bruising kiss.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the room watching them, utterly aroused by John’s domination of the meeker man. John pulled his mouth off and held Q’s heaving shoulders.

‘Just like that, huh?’ Q gasped into John’s shoulder.

‘Just like that’, said Sherlock and caught Q’s arms from behind, spinning him around for another kiss. This time, John watched and Sherlock possessed.

Q’s muffled groans were unbearably erotic and John ran the heel of his palm over his swelling cock through his jeans. ‘Sherlock, take him inside’, he ordered.

Sherlock pulled his head up and held a dazed Q in his arms. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes... yes...’, Q panted. Then he grinned. ‘Never better.’

‘Good, because John and I have been thinking of all the different ways we're going to fuck you’, he said and dragged Q into his bedroom. He cast an appreciative eye over the arrangements. Five state-of-the-art cameras had been set up, four above the corners of the bed and one at the foot of the bed, in the middle, to capture the most intimate details of the impending copulation in high definition. ‘Impressive’, Sherlock allowed. ‘How do you turn it on?’ He swooped down to kiss Q again.

‘Switch... the big black switch’, Q mumbled against his lips.

John walked over to the wall and found the big black switch. He flicked it on. At once, small red lights appeared on each of the cameras. Roll tape. Action.

Sherlock stepped back from Q. ‘Strip’, he said and started to pull off his own clothes.

‘Kiss me, love’, said John, watching his husband disrobe.

Sherlock grabbed John and kissed him hard and deep, with tongue and teeth and lips.

Q stood still, mesmerised.  

‘I said strip!’ Sherlock barked from over John’s head before going back to kissing his husband.

‘I love you’, John said, ‘I love you for doing this for me.’

‘I’ll do anything for you, John.’

‘And I for you.’ John kissed Sherlock’s forehead.

‘No you won’t.’ Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s temple.

‘Anything, just ask!’

They kissed on the mouth.

‘Come with me to the Opera on Sunday.’ Sherlock kissed John’s neck.

‘God, Sherlock, no! Your mummy will be there and she doesn’t like me!’

Sherlock kissed John’s earlobe. ‘We have three tickets and I don’t like Mycroft. He’s a bore.’

‘Please…’, John groaned while Sherlock licked his neck.

‘Mummy likes you. She just has a funny way of showing it.’

John pulled away. ‘This is low, even for you. I’m impaired right now, you know.’

‘I do what I have to.’

‘Fine!’ John huffed. ‘I’ll go with you and Mummy to the Opera.’

‘I love you’, Sherlock smiled softly, a smile for John and John alone.

‘I know, my beautiful git, and I love you too. I always will.’

A quiet, shivering protest came at them from the middle of the room. It was Q. ‘I’m naked and quite cold here.’

‘I’ll take care of you’, said Sherlock, striding back to Q and wrapping his arms around his slender nakedness. He pushed him onto the bed and stretched out beside him.

Q was shorter than Sherlock but taller than John. Sherlock gently pushed his heavy fringe off his forehead. ‘Do you want me to fuck you?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Terrific, because I absolutely want to fuck you’, Sherlock laughed, leaning down for another kiss.

'Um- do you- I mean, does John let you fuck him?'

John laughed with Sherlock and answered. 'Only when he's been brilliant', he grinned.

'Oh...', Q pondered. A moment later, realisation dawned. 'Oh! That means the night we met and you decoded the-'

'That's exactly what it means', Sherlock confirmed with a wink. His mouth nipped down Q’s taut neck to the planes of his chest where his lips found two very eager little nipples. Then he wandered lower and spent the next little while showing Q exactly what John loved about his mouth. Nearly out of his mind with pleasure, Q thumped the bed, seeking a respite to catch his breath.

Sherlock obliged and rose to his knees. When he turned, he was being fed John’s cock.

‘Nice and wet, my love’, John coaxed but Sherlock needed no coaxing.

His mouth swallowed John down to his root, applying just the amount of suction he knew John liked and just the hint of teeth he knew John loved. One hand cupped John’s balls and fondled the firm globes in the thin sac. His other hand reached around John’s hips and traced the crease between his cheeks.

‘God, Sherlock, you drive me mad!’ John gasped.

Sherlock would have responded but his mouth was full of John’s cock. Instead, he pushed his thumb between John’s cheeks and felt around for the budded hole, groaning when he found it. John had smeared lube between his cheeks, so Sherlock’s thumb slipped in past the furled entrance and caught on the tight ring of muscle. He pushed more and then he was inside.

John groaned at the ingress and Sherlock nearly shouted when he felt his own cock enclosed in wet heat. Dragging his eyes down, he saw Q on all fours before him, sucking him like he had been starving a week. A rough moan tore out of him; John’s cock quivered with the vibrations. Strong hands grabbed Sherlock’s hair and held it in place while John started to rock his hips slowly, using Sherlock’s mouth. Below, Q pulled off Sherlock’s cock and sucked on his balls, first one, then the other and then, opening his mouth wide, he took them both gently in. His tongue licked over the thin skin, smoothly gliding over the globes inside.

‘God, you are both so beautiful’, John gasped, looking down at Sherlock sucking him while a feline Q sucked Sherlock.

His inhibitions completely obliterated, Q went on the prowl. He released Sherlock’s balls and crept around him to press his face up into the cleft between his cheeks. His tongue licked out and found its prize, teasing the quivering bud into opening under his wet onslaught. A muffled cry of pleasure travelled from Sherlock’s throat into John’s cock. John’s hands tightened in Sherlock’s hair and, before he knew it, the sight of Sherlock’s arse being consumed by a ravenous Q combined with Sherlock’s mouth stretched around his own pulsing cock pushed him over the edge and he came in a rush of relief down Sherlock’s throat.

His come was swallowed by Sherlock’s thirsting mouth, as it always was. He held still until his cock was smaller and slipped out of Sherlock’s mouth. Bending down, he kissed Sherlock and their tongues swept along each other, tasting sweat and spit and semen. And love.

‘I love you’, John whispered.

‘I love you’, Sherlock gasped.

As soon as John pushed away, Sherlock fell onto his elbows, overwhelmed, his hips pushed up above his bent knees, his arse still on offer.

Q fell back on the pillows, panting. He watched, fascinated, as John took his place and pushed his face into Sherlock’s arse and teased his husband. Judging from Sherlock’s little yelps and the rolling of his hips, John had breached him with his tongue.

‘Lube’, John rasped against Sherlock’s cheek and caught the tube lobbed at him by Q. Slick fingers then joined his tongue and penetrated Sherlock’s loosening hole. Unintelligible sounds were spilling from Sherlock’s abused lips and Q shifted until his head was close to Sherlock’s.

‘Kiss me’, Q pleaded, looking up into Sherlock’s wild, unfocused eyes.

Sherlock thrust his tongue into Q’s mouth. Q tasted John. Sherlock tasted himself.

They kissed and kissed until Q squealed into Sherlock’s mouth. Lifting his head, Sherlock looked down to see Q’s cock enveloped in John’s mouth while his fingers still pumped in and out of Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock smiled. ‘Lie back and think of England’, he teased and started a trail of kisses down Q’s body, settling on tormenting his nipples while Q’s cock was similarly tormenting by John.

‘Flip over’, John commanded Q, gently dragging his fingers out of Sherlock.

Q obeyed, burying his face in his pillow.

‘Not like that.’ Sherlock slipped a hand under Q’s flat belly. ‘On your hands and knees.’

Q pushed up on all fours.

‘Lovely’, Sherlock whispered and walked on his knees to Q’s front. Straddling his pillow and resting his hips against the headboard, he tipped his hips forward. ‘Suck me’, he said, holding out his cock.

Q leaned forward and took Sherlock in his mouth. Behind him, John nudged Q’s thighs apart and then, grabbing his arse cheeks, gently pulled him open.

‘So lovely, so pink’, he informed Sherlock whose eyes were half-lidded from the pleasure he was receiving in front of Q’s bobbing head. Pleased that his husband was enjoying what was mostly John’s proclivity, John bent down to put his mouth on Q.

‘Unnhhh’, Q moaned and swallowed. Sherlock mewled.

A tongue licked up Q’s crack and stabbed inside his hole. Q shouted around Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock started to move his hips slowly, grinding against Q’s face, lazily fucking Q’s mouth but making sure to keep his fingers curled tight around his base to stave off his orgasm. Q’s defences were being decimated by John and Sherlock felt the effect in Q’s desperate tugs on his flesh.

When John finally lifted his face, Sherlock asked, ‘Now?’ lowering his eyes to John’s resurgent erection.

‘Now, god, now!’

‘Pull off, Q’, said Sherlock. ‘I’m going to fuck you now. It’ll be good’, he promised while John rolled a condom onto his cock and lubed it up.

‘And John is going to fuck you’, Q said in a garbled whisper.

‘And your boyfriend is going to watch this’, John added.

Q lay on his back, head on his pillow. Sherlock shifted to settle between his legs. ‘Wider, Q. Bring your knees up.’

Q did as he was told, bending his legs at the knees. Sherlock grabbed the backs of his calves and pushed his knees into his chest. Q was folded in half, his slick hole on shameless display for Sherlock. And John.

‘Put me inside you’, Sherlock groaned, moving his hips closer.

Q reached out a shivering hand and found Sherlock’s cock. He pulled on it, drawing Sherlock towards him and then waited when the tip pressed against his hole. Sherlock pushed in. A soft pop and he was inside. He thrust in gently, bending down to kiss Q, murmuring words of encouragement until, a few moments later, he was fully seated inside Q.

‘Good?’ he asked and got a delirious nod in response. ‘Great’, he smiled and began to move his hips, slowly, taking his time to enjoy Q, giving Q time to adjust to him.

‘Harder’, Q begged. ‘Please, I need it!’

‘Soon’, Sherlock whispered.

‘Oh god!’ Q gasped, realising what that meant. He shifted his head to the side and saw John positioning himself behind Sherlock. When John pushed hard into Sherlock, Q felt the violent jerk in Sherlock’s hips as surely as John was fucking _him_.

Sherlock twisted his head around to kiss John. Q watched, transfixed by what was happening. Sherlock and John were having sex with Q but were making love to each other. God, how he missed his agent. He’d show him how much just as soon as he returned from Morocco.

A hard nudge between his legs brought him back to his current predicament, if he could call it that because it was, truly, a most delightful predicament. Pinioned under Sherlock, being fucked rhythmically by his substantial cock, feeling John fuck into Sherlock from behind. Life was good. It would only be better if this were Bond inside him.

John’s thrusts picked up speed and Sherlock fucked back against him. His arms seemed to lose their strength because he fell over Q and made sobbing noises into his neck.

Concerned, John stroked his lover’s back. ‘Sherlock, my love, is it too much?’

The tousled head shook vigorously.

‘Then what is it? Please, tell me!’

The pale back lifted and John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s chest, lifting him up gently until his back was flush with John’s front.

‘What is it?’

Sherlock again turned his head to John. John kissed him.

‘I love you, John. Only you, John.’

‘I know, my darling, I love you, I love you so much my heart bursts when you take my name.’

John covered Sherlock’s mouth and slammed his hips against him. Like a wave swelling through their bodies, Sherlock’s hips slammed into Q’s. Sherlock dropped his head to his chest. John fucked Sherlock, and Sherlock fucked Q. Again. And again. Q closed his eyes and imagined it was Bond fucking into him.

‘James...’, he breathlessly invoked his absent lover and spurted over his stomach.

A shudder rippled through Sherlock’s body and Q felt him pulse inside him, flooding his condom. Sherlock’s thighs shook. With a cry he threw his head back when John’s hands dug into his hips. John reached his own climax with a shout, spilling inside Sherlock, his semen bathing the heated passage. They stayed like that, three naked men joined with each other, spurting, shaking, until there was no more to give.

Carefully pulling out of Q’s body, Sherlock pulled off the condom and tied it off. Leaning down, he kissed Q. It was a tender touch of lips, unhurried, sweet.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked. John was still inside him, growing smaller. John’s come was starting to flow out of him.

‘No’, said Q, swallowing Sherlock’s gasp when John pulled out of him.

‘Thank you’, Sherlock whispered and kissed Q again. Then he lifted his body off Q’s and turned to John. They held each other and kissed. Deep, soulful kisses as though they were alone in the room.

Q’s heart lurched. How he wished for James to be back. When he had cleaned and bandaged the wounds he was certain Bond would bear on his return, he would feed him and love him until his next mission. In his arms. In his bed. This bed.

John looked over at Q. ‘Was that all right?’

Q came back to himself. ‘More than’, he admitted.

John smiled at him. ‘You’re a delicate, beautiful and intelligent man, Geoffrey Boothroyd. Your agent is a very lucky man’, John said, leaning down to kiss Q. 

‘Right on all counts’, said a fourth, disembodied voice.

‘What the-!’ John snapped upright.

‘James!’ Q exclaimed, his heart trilling to the familiar tone.

‘Welcome back, double-oh-seven’, Sherlock drawled. ‘I hope you enjoyed the show.’

‘For fuck’s sake, show yourself!’ John demanded, three decibels short of shouting.

A shadowed figure sat in the armchair in the far corner of the room. The man rose from his chair and walked over to the bed.

‘James!’ Q cried. ‘Are you alright? Were you hurt this time?’

‘I am fine’, Bond said gruffly but ran a surprisingly tender hand through Q’s thick hair. ‘And you?’

‘I’m- I’m- I’, Q gasped.

‘You fuck like a minx, darling, but your post-coital conversational skills are sorely lacking’, Bond teased, an affectionate smile curing on his lips.

'Well, I don't have your experience, do I?' Q's retort earned him a kiss from Bond.

John fixed Q with an accusatory stare. ‘You said he was gone the whole week.’

‘I’m his boyfriend, not his travel agent’, Q protested mildly.

Three naked men, one annoyed, one embarrassed and one amused, knelt with hands on hips, crouched and sat erect on Q’s bed while double-oh-seven, MI6’s top agent, conducted a silent appraisal. Sherlock conducted his own appraisal of the agent, perfectly accoutered in a Tom Ford suit. Sherlock appreciated well-dressed men. He also appreciated men who could handle a gun.

‘Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Bond. James Bond.’

 _It was a good evening, indeed_ , thought Sherlock.

‘I didn’t hear the door open, James’, Q said feebly.

‘I didn’t use the door. So’, he said, turning the full force of his blistering scrutiny on the interlopers, ‘John Watson and Sherlock Holmes...’

‘That’s us’, John said flatly.

‘Pleased to meet you’, Sherlock smiled.

‘You have just fucked my boyfriend into his mattress. While I watched.’

‘He said you liked watching’, John sneered. ‘But he omitted to tell us you liked your entertainment live.’

‘I do’, Bond acknowledged with a lift of one shoulder.

‘Are you upset with me, James?’ Q asked, his voice small with concern.

‘Not upset with you. Never.’

‘You did say you wouldn’t mind if I did this.’

‘And I don’t. I’m just interested.’

‘In what?’ John demanded.

‘In him’, Bond said and looked at Sherlock.

‘What do you mean?’ John growled.

‘You and your lover have had mine. It’s only fair that my lover and I have yours.’

John could not rebut the logic of the statement. He looked over at Sherlock who was being blatantly eye-fucked by James Bond and was enjoying a little eye-fucking of his own. That helped but he would let Sherlock decide.

‘Sherlock?’ he asked.

Sherlock broke his connection with Bond and shifted his gaze to John. ‘I am amenable’, he said casually like it was an invitation to dinner and not a night of sexual excess with two men, neither of whom was his husband. 

John studied his face for the smallest sign that he did not want to do this. He found none. ‘All right’, he said. ‘And you?’ he asked Q. 

‘I...’ Q’s lips disappeared between his teeth.

‘Do you want to fuck me?’ Sherlock asked him.

‘I will’, Bond piped up, ‘if he won’t’,

‘Y- yes...?’ Q said, his voice trailing up into a question.

‘Yes or no?’ Bond rasped.

‘Yes’, Q murmured.

‘Very well’, said Bond, straightening his suit jacket as if they were in a boardroom and he had just struck a lucrative business deal. ‘How does next Friday at ten, your place, work for you?’

‘It works just fine, thank you’, Sherlock answered.

Q’s gaze flitted from Bond to Sherlock to John. The reason Sherlock and John had visited him at MI6 came back to him. ‘But the assignment?’

‘They _are_ the assignment’, Bond told him.

Q pushed his glasses up his nose. He waited a beat. ‘What?’

‘Mycroft Holmes wanted to give his brother and brother-in-law a gift for their first anniversary. They were your assignment. You would be their gift. If you wanted to be.’

‘Oh’, said Q. A despondency had crept into his voice. ‘You knew about this.’

‘Mycroft approached me with the idea. I told him I wouldn’t interfere. It would be up to you to decide.’

‘How could you let me… when you were away?’

‘But I was right here’, Bond smiled. ‘I can’t bear to think of you with another man, let alone two, when I’m not around to protect you.’

‘I don’t need your protection, James’, Q mumbled into the broad, suited shoulder, his abject nakedness giving the lie to his words.

‘You do, silly boy.’ He covered Q's yielding buttocks with his calloused palms.

‘I’m not a boy’, Q murmured. Then he squealed when Bond squeezed hard.

‘I’m fifteen years older than you. You’re a boy. And a silly one. You’re the silly boy I trusted with my life before and now with my old, bitter heart.’

‘Your heart is not bitter’, Q demurred.

‘But it is old?’ Bond smiled. He pulled Q’s naked body tight against him and kissed him. ‘I love you.’

‘And I love you.’ Q smiled up at him. ‘Old man.’

John held his tongue because it was his turn to watch a ridiculously-in-love couple express their affection with noisy and wet kisses.

Bond plucked at Q’s lips with his. ‘Missed me?’

‘More than you know’, Q admitted, breathless with joy at feeling that cruel-looking mouth melt against his in another deep kiss.

‘Congratulations, by the way’, said a slightly breathless Bond, coming up for air and nodding at John and Sherlock. ‘Get dressed and join me for drinks in the living room. I do have an official assignment to discuss with you.’ He smacked Q on his bare buttock and strode out of the bedroom.

Sherlock took John’s hand. The following Friday would be the first time he would have sex with two men neither of whom was John. ‘John?’ he said softly. ‘You will be there, won’t you?’

‘You bet your beautiful arse I will, my love’, he winked. ‘Someone’s got to hold the camera.’

 

-FIN-


End file.
